


Ordinary

by leet911



Category: Noir (Anime)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-05
Updated: 2004-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leet911/pseuds/leet911
Summary: Some of us go through life trying to be different. And then there are those of us who just want to be ordinary.
Relationships: Mireille Bouquet/Yumura Kirika
Kudos: 1





	Ordinary

* * *

I'm not your average girl. I don't think I ever was. But sometimes, I wish I could be.

What I'm doing now, it's like watching life through a window. I can press my face right up against the glass, but I can never truly live the life outside.

At the front of the class, the math teacher goes on mindlessly with her derivation of the cosine law. No one's paying attention. I wonder if she even knows. I wonder if she even cares. It's last period anyway; she must want to go home as much as the students do. Two rows ahead, I can see Jeanette and Yvonne whispering together, no doubt already making plans for the weekend. Next to me, Pierre is amusing himself by erasing the graffiti on his desk, weaving hypnotic patterns of newly clean streaks. I'm just as bored as the rest of them, although I'm less inclined to show it. Trigonometry seems so trivial to me. Not simple, just... superfluous.

Actually, the whole school experience seems unnecessary to me. I don't know what I'm supposed to accomplish here. There isn't much for me to enjoy. And even the pleasure of the rare class that I do enjoy, art for instance, seems strangely muted by the shadow of my social ineptitude. But Mireille insists, she assures me it's for the best, and I have to believe her. She may not be the model product of society, but she's still better off than I am.

School is such a pain to me. It's like I'm a character in one of those teenage television dramas Mireille's so fond of. I'm alone here. I'm older than everyone in my class because of all the time I missed, and that's just one more barrier on top of all the others. I wish I wasn't special. I wish I wasn't different.

I look around me, and I see the boy with a dozen metal studs in his face, I see the girl with the blue hair sticking up in jagged spikes. I don't know why they want to do that, why they want to be that way. I don't understand why all these teenagers strive to break out of the box, to be unique, to be noticed. All I ever wanted was to be just like them, just another girl. I want to be just another face in a sea of thousands, just another person in a world of billions. Adolescence seems to be so much about anti-conformity, but that's not what I want. In fact, I want just the opposite. I want to fit in.

So I'm sitting in my customary seat by the window, watching the wind sweep the fallen leaves across the schoolyard. I know I'll be out there in less than five minutes, fighting a thousand other students for the right of way. I can almost see myself standing out there, alone, in the eye of the angry storm swirling around me. It happens everyday. All the other students run and push, joke with their friends, jostle each other. But me, it's like I'm untouchable. They're afraid of me. No matter how bad the shoving gets, somehow I'm immune. There's always a loose ring of space around me; I'm always alone in the crowd. And I know there are some people, in this class even, that would give anything for that kind of respect, but I hate it. It's just another way of showing me how different I am.

As if I wasn't already special enough. I'm the older girl from Japan who joined the class halfway through the school year, the girl who spoke eerily perfect French despite her Asian heritage, the girl who moved with such quiet confidence it held off even the meanest of bullies. They're scared of me. They don't even know me, and they're scared of me. Maybe I should just count myself lucky, take my breaks and run, move on with my life. But where exactly is this life of mine headed?

Sigh. Glance at the clock. One minute to go.

All the other students are already quietly packing their things, getting ready to leave the instant the bell rings. The whole scene seems so distant to me. Personally, I don't see why they have to rush out of here. It's not as if they have somewhere vitally important to be. It's not as if those couple of extra minutes are going to make any real difference. Up ahead, the teacher is wrapping up, telling us which practice problems we should do for homework. I scrawl down the numbers at the top of my blank notebook page, writing them down even though I know I'll remember them anyway. The bell goes off as I close my book, and just as quickly, the classroom is empty. Out in the hall, the cacophony has already started: lockers slamming closed, students calling out, thousands of feet pounding towards the exits.

My eyes stay on the window for just a moment longer, until I see the first students burst out into the schoolyard. It's like race to them. I don't understand it at all. I want to know what it's like out there, beyond the glass. I want to feel the real world. I want to be ordinary, but I guess that's beyond me.

I head out at my own pace. Obediently, the crowd parts for me as I step into the hall. I wonder if it's unconscious, their reaction to my presence. Can they sense the stench of death clinging to me? Or are my hands dripping blood? I doubt it's anything so flagrant. I doubt it's anything I could change. Sometimes, I'm not sure I want to. Let them fear me.

I'm still mulling over my dark thoughts when I make it outside. My steps are automatic, feet following their path by rote. I'm not watching where I'm going, but I can still sense the people around me. It's reflex, the way I pick up on everything going on. I might not think about it, but unconsciously, my mind is taking note of everything, filing it all away, anticipating danger. Old habits die hard.

So I guess it's not surprising I pick up on the presence near me. It's her. Mireille. She's waiting for me, just outside the gate, and she smiles when I look up at her. And all of sudden, the sea of screaming teenagers around me disappears. All of sudden, it's a beautiful day. I didn't notice that before, too concerned with feeling sorry for myself. But the sun is shining warmly on my face, and the gentle breeze rippling through my hair is pleasant.

"Hi." She says as I step nearer, her hand coming up to push a lock of my hair back into place. Her touch is divine. I want to grab her hand and hold it against my face. I'm finding it hard not to smile back at her.

"Hi."

"How'd you like to go for ice cream or something?"

Now I really do smile. Summer's long gone, but I don't care. Ice cream sounds great. I grab her arm and drag her off in the direction of the dairy bar.

So we're sitting in the ice cream parlour, and I'm looking out the window again, watching the people scurry around. And yet, it doesn't feel like life is passing me by right now, it doesn't feel like I'm just a spectator. All I have to do is look across the table to the blonde grinning at her chocolate sundae.

She catches me looking at her, and she smiles that beautiful, radiant smile for me. She reaches over and puts her hand over mine, leans forward to kiss me lightly.

For the moment, I'm not alone. Let's try to keep it that way.

* * *


End file.
